


Perspectives~Epilogue~Finis: A Million Sad Stories

by PhoenixDragon



Series: Perspectives [13]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Dark, Gen, Horror, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-05
Updated: 2010-07-05
Packaged: 2017-10-12 05:59:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/121591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixDragon/pseuds/PhoenixDragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A/N: This fic would not have been possible without the support of my wonderful husband and my awesome Friends (at work, at home and at LJ!) cheering me on - thanks guys, I can never show enough love! This fic was inspired by the awesome music/vids that have awed and moved me over the last few months - so big thanks to Loki, LSketch42, Kahesha, DragonFly and Thandie! This fiction would not have been possible (even with all the love and support) if not for my fantastic beta and friend Rinkle! Honey, I would have been lost in Nowhere without you! That's just facts *HUGS*. So any screw-ups you see are mine and mine alone. That being said, I hope you enjoy - and if you do, give a nod to all these wonderful people listed here. (Written for spn_j2_bigbang at Livejournal.)<br/>Disclaimer: Not mine, nope! All the wishing and pleading with the PTB have not changed this. So please no sue - just having fun here!</p><p> </p><p><b>For the Artwork and Soundtrack for this fiction, check out the <a href="http://a-phoenixdragon.livejournal.com/391439.html">Perspectives Masterpost</a> at my LiveJournal. And thank you for reading!</b></p></blockquote>





	Perspectives~Epilogue~Finis: A Million Sad Stories

**  
' **A Million Sad Stories** '   
**

  
_To the end of the Earth, I'll search for your face - For the one who laid all of our beauty to waste - Threw our hope into Hell and our children into the fire - I am the one who crawled through the wire, I am the one who crawled through the wire  
_ **- Patty Griffin**  


**4 Days Later...**

Dean stepped out of the tattoo shop, wincing as he rearranged his shirt over his chest, pulling at the fabric over his right shoulder. He stopped to shade his eyes, making sure his ride was still out front, before pulling out his new cellphone, scrolling until he hit Birch's number, one of the first he had put in. Out of habit he still had Bobby and Sam's numbers inside, and found he hesitated every time he made a call, thumb hovering just over the send button, an almost physical ache to hear their voices taking over each time. It was hard - harder than he had ever dreamed possible to just drop all contact with his old life, but he hoped it would get easier as time went on. Maybe one day he would even be able to delete those numbers out of his cellphone - but he couldn't imagine it happening any time soon, no matter what he told himself.

The call went through amazingly fast and he smiled as Birch barked out a greeting, one of his dogs going nuts in the background as he hollered a hello into the phone.

"Hey Birch!" Dean half-yelled, hoping the older man could hear him over his mutt.

"Dean! Shaddup, Digger, ya damned mutt - it's just the phone! Sorry 'bout that, there, Winchester - thinks every time the phone rings the damned house is gonna burn down or somethin' - so...you got it?"

"That I did - called to apologize for taking so long, though -"

"Ahh, don't worry about that there, son - take your time. Hope Nathan was kind to you."

"He was," Dean chuckled, smiling at the memory of a mini-Birch (much younger mind you) hustling him into the adobe house, bitching about the heat and dehydration and ' _Take a load off there, boy - my uncle said you was droppin' by_ ' with that Western twang that had Dean grinning in seconds. His son though - he hadn't been happy to see Dean at all. "Don't think Allen liked me all that much though."

"Don't really care what that brat thinks," Birch returned smoothly, a creaking sound ringing over the phone as he sat with a sigh. "Kinda glad you'll be taking care of that machine - Allen'd just tear her up anyhow. Nathan understands, I'm sure."

"Yeah, he was a real nice guy, Twig - wouldn't let me leave without feeding me and giving me about a gallon of tea, though." Dean laughed.

"Yeah, that's Nathan for ya - always was a fusser. Did he make you nap, too?"

"Yeah! For about four hours! Insisted on it - even had the guest room all done up and everything," Dean mused fondly. "Then he made me eat again before he let me go, swear I weighed about two tons before I hauled ass, but it was worth it - that sweet tea was awesome!"

"Well, he's a good boy - had to be since Tina died, but it helps when the foundation has already been laid, you know? By the way, Thomas is just as nice a boy - 'course, I'm not prejudiced or nothin' -"

"Nooo, of course not," Dean grinned, slipping on his sunglasses and stepping out from under the awning that declared ' _Desert Eagle Artwerks: Unique, Designer Tattoos While You Wait!_ ' "I'm just hoping he won't worry on why I'm taking so long - had some ahhhh, things I had to take care of, you know?"

He could hear the 'Pshaw' in Twig's voice as he replied, another creaking noise and the sound of a dog grumbling in the background.

"You take all the time you need there, Dean - he's not really expecting you for another week at the outside, you know? After all, he grew up with Nathan," Birch rasped out a chuckle and Dean could almost see his eyes crinkling at the corners. He was hit with the wish to see the old man again and was surprised by how much he missed him already - he had spent less that twelve hours with Birch, but it felt like he had known him for years. "He's gonna be surprised you managed to get away with only a four hour nap, a gallon of tea and two meals! Actually, I think he'll be _impressed_!"

Dean laughed with him a moment, contemplating the vending machine advertising ice cold cokes two stores down, before dismissing it - the last thing he needed was all that sugar and caffeine. Would get him more thirsty than he was already, the heat index through the roof already before it even hit eleven am.

"Did...did you get any visitors, Twig?" he asked, suddenly serious and slightly anxious.

"Yup...yup I did - was the next mornin' as a matter of fact. Good thing I get up real early most days -"

" _Man_...I was afraid of that. I'm sorry, Twig -"

"Nothin' to be sorry about, boy - you did warn me that it might happen. Looks like they were a little slower than you anticipated though."

"Thank goodness for that," Dean breathed, feeling a twinge in his chest as he recalled his last conversation with Sam. His one regret was that he didn't get to say goodbye to Bobby. He owed the man so much more than that - he was like a father to them, even before John died. "Hope they didn't cause too much hassle for you."

"Nope, Bobby was real polite - has that Fed act down, too. Threw me for a loop I tell ya...it was, kind of nice to meet him, even though I had to send him away with a flea in his ear."

"Thank you, Twig, you didn't have to do that," Dean said quietly, reaching to scrub a hand through his hair until the pulling ache near his right shoulder reminded him that that wasn't such a hot idea.

"'Course I did," the old man gruffed. "Gotta get that package to Thomas now, dontcha'?"

"Yeah...yeah would kinda be a problem if they caught me before I could do that," Dean smiled, though it was more of a sad smile than a real one. "If he calls or you call him, let Thomas know I should be there within the next few days, okay? Got a few more loose ends to tie up and then I'm set. The next time you talk to me you'll be talking to Jonathon Samuel Smith."

"Good name," Birch returned thoughtfully. "Gonna kinda miss Dean, though."

"Ohhh, he'll still be there - just...with a different moniker. Nothing new to me, really - had to change my name a lot with my old gig."

"At least he'll still be around," Birch replied. His next words were hesitant, almost regretful, but he spit them out like they needed to be said, his tone registering discomfort, but not for himself. "I didn't...I didn't see Sam, though - guess they figured it'd be too much of a giveaway. I'm...I'm real sorry, Dean - I hope that _someday_ , you know? I just -"

"I know, Twig," Dean returned softly, feeling warm that Birch cared enough to worry about his feelings, but sad that he couldn't seem to let go as cleanly as he'd hoped. "It's okay old man - maybe one day, but...but not now. It's for the best - it really is. I wish I could say that I'm keeping them away just for me, you know? But I'm not - I'm not _good_ for him right now. I have to protect my brother - I always have and I hoped I always would, but the best way to protect him right now is to keep him as far from me as possible. I've - I've done things... _terrible_ things - and I just don't want him caught up in it. I wish I could just say I was being a coward, that I am afraid of him finding out - I mean, I _know_ he will, maybe sooner than I'd thought - but just being around him...it seems to drive him further down the wrong path, you understand? I can't...I can't do that to him. Letting him go is so damned hard and -"

He paused, taking in ragged breath after ragged breath, hoping he wouldn't break down in the middle of an Arizona street, bawling his eyes out over something he really couldn't control. He was just so overwhelmed with missing Sam and Bobby and so disappointed in himself, he really had no idea what to do anymore. This above all, told him he was doing the right thing. If he could barely keep _himself_ together, how could he keep his brother from doing the wrong thing? All he could hope was that Bobby and Castiel would do what he couldn't. As for himself? Only time would tell - it might take a long while, he knew he could never completely forgive himself, maybe the nightmares and the awful wants would fade after time, though he knew that none of it would ever truly go away. He just needed to get a handle on it before _it_ got a handle on _him_.

"I'm sorry, boy," Twig rasped, sounding near tears himself. "I shouldn't of...I'm sorry -"

"No - no Twig, don't be sorry. I'm...I kind of wish you could have met Sam - _truly_ met him. He's...he's a good guy, you know? He really is - better than his brother could ever be. I think...I think you would have liked him."

"I probably would have," Twig said, voice thoughtful. "Better than his brother...that's be a neat trick right there. But that tells me I woulda liked him just fine, anyhow. You're a good man, Dean - no matter what you tell yourself. You just remember that for me, okay? And keep in touch. An old man gets bored easily when he has nothin' better t'do than sit on his ass all day."

Dean laughed slightly, almost relieved when the yo-yo of emotions tapered off a bit. It was another thing he hadn't gotten used to yet that could only be solved by time.

"I'll be sure to do that, Twig - take good care of Digger and Raymond. I'll probably call you in a few days, okay?"

"Alright, Dean - til then, take good care of my girl - and yourself. I'll tell Thomas to expect you in a few."

"Thanks old man."

"Anytime, punk," Birch countered happily, then the call cut out with a muted click.

Dean closed the phone slowly before sliding it into his front pocket, eyes still on the Coke machine just a few feet to his left.

' _Fuck it_ ,' he though semi-tiredly. ' _If_ anybody _deserves a coke and a fucking smile -_ '

He dug a dollar out of his new wallet (ID proudly declaring him to be Jon Smith from Bixby, Arizona) feeding the crisp, fresh bill into the machine, pleased when he got an old-fashioned bottled Coke for the buck, popping the cap against the opener on the side of the machine before taking a healthy slug.

"Gahhh," he declared happily, blinking back tears from the carbonation. " _Man_ , they don't make 'em like they used to! Does taste better out of a glass bottle."

He drank it slowly, knowing it would do more harm than good to drink something that cold and syrupy too fast in the rising heat, squinting even through his sunglasses at the hot sun beating down on him from overhead while actively keeping his hands away from his chest where his new tattoo burned and itched under the gauze padding. It hadn't been fun to get a tat last time he needed one - and this time was no different. Not that it hurt to get one, that was a cakewalk - it was the careful treatment for the next few weeks after. He had to be especially careful with this one - one little fuck up while it was healing and he'd have to do it all over again.

The last few days had been a little busy. Besides having to get ahold of the info for the tattoo itself, he had been going through all of his old P.O. Boxes, shutting them down and rerouting them to one he had opened in Bixby, his next stop over after Flagstaff. The new ID was a piece of cake, opening the new P.O. Box was a piece of cake. It was just having to hang around for a few days during the transport - all the while hoping that Sam didn't catch on to the closing of the old boxes and the reroute before the mail could get to Bixby.

It was a nerve-wracking few days (he never did well at sitting still too long, anyhow - something he'd have to get over and _soon_ ), but paying for Next Day Air for every piece was worth it all when he finally got the mail in his hands. He'd have to open another P.O. Box when he moved - that was, if he didn't have a mailbox of his own - but that was neither here nor there at the moment.

While he had waited he got busy shutting down his old cellphone and credit cards, making sure to withdraw as much money as he could get away with on all five before cutting them up and chucking them, calling the credit card companies to declare them stolen immediately afterwards. He wasn't too concerned about those in the end - sure they might be able to trace them to here and if anyone could, Sam could - but processing a claim for a stolen card on an account that was deactivated not too long after the claim was made takes time.

Normally, a company would balk at shutting down an account that still had money owed on it - but Dean knew how to play the sympathy card just enough to make it happen. Of course, that meant all that paperwork would just make everything that much slower - so by the time Sam caught wind of what was going on, Dean would have been gone from the area days, if not _weeks_ \- no trace that he had ever been here in the first place.

It really only took one day to do all those things, but he made sure to lay low anyhow, his paranoia at getting caught increasing as he stayed in the same motel (the only one at the outskirts of town worth staying in) for more than 48 hours. But after he had withdrawn all that money (the limits on the cards being 500 or more) he had a pretty hefty sum to go on, so he paid cash for the room, cash for his new phone and cash for the tattoo when he went to get it done, so that cut down on his chances of being traced greatly, something that made it easier to breathe through in the end.

Really, the main reason he had waited so long on the mail wasn't the new card applications, licenses, letters from Ellen and Jo, or the occasional ritual sent by Bobby, it wasn't even for his monthly copy of Busty Asian Beauties. Which (he thought with a pang) he would have to drop - he would be way too easy to trace that way and how dumb would it be to be busted by your little brother because of your favorite porn? No, he had waited and spent way too long in this little podunk for one thing and one thing only - a small envelope from Joshua, an old friend of Dad's and Deacon's.

He had maybe spoken to Joshua three times since his Dad died - it had hurt too much to call one of the few men John had kept as a friend because of who he was and how he was, instead of in spite of it. Joshua had come to hunting a little before John, having stumbled across something in his nephew's cabin that just couldn't be explained away - and he and John had gone on quite a few hunts together when Dean and Sam were still growing up. He dabbled in a little bit of everything, hunting when he could and gathering lore when he could not - so besides Bobby Singer he was the next best thing to an authority on the supernatural.

When Dean had called (and endured the chewing out for not calling sooner when he had crawled out of his grave) two weeks back, he had asked Joshua a favor. His Dad's old friend had known how close Dean and John were and was always eager to help out when he could, which wasn't often because of his hardware business, but he did what he could in a pinch.

Dean hated to ask any favors of the man because it had been so long since that had actually spoken, not to mention met up - but Joshua insisted on trying anyway, saying he still owed John a few when he died - and Dean was practically a nephew, so no problem. He did ask why Dean didn't go through Bobby for what he wanted, but Dean didn't know how to tell him that while he loved Singer, trusted him with his life - he couldn't risk him accidentally spilling (or deliberately, if he was worried enough) what he was doing to Sam. Not until he was sure he had everything he needed. Joshua had put up with the lukewarm excuse and Dean could almost see him raising his hands in the air as he spoke as if to ward off something flying at his face, while asking Dean to give him a few days - he'd see what he could do.

 _Shit_ , Dean'd had nothing _but_ time on his hands, what with Sam sneaking out to do God knows what, an angel scrutinizing his every move and seals to protect, so he was almost caught off guard when Joshua called back a few days later when Sam was 'out' and told him to check his mail - and good luck, he hoped it worked. Dean had forgotten about it over the next few days while scrambling to keep the nightmares at bay, Sam close and Bobby arm's length - but he had remembered it while hitching the rest of the way to Arizona, nothing but time to think and not much else to do besides. He knew he'd have to shut everything down - but losing that information before he could check it out for himself (not to mention having Sam stumble across it) was just not feasible - not after all the trouble Joshua went to to get it. He collected the mail as soon as it had arrived, shutting down the box they had been mailed to, thus assuring that the only tie he had in this town was his hotel room, which he hustled off to with his treasures as soon as he could get away.

He had dumped the credit card applications and other detritus in the trash (holding onto the letters from Ellen, Jo and Bobby in case he could ever suck it up enough to look at them) disappointed that his subscription of Busty Asian Beauties had obviously run out (though that was one less thing to shut down when it was all over) and turned Joshua's letter over and over in his hands, too scared to get his hopes up, but too cornered to not believe that it held a solution to a lot of problems.

When he had crawled out of his own grave, he knew that trouble would follow. He may not be the genius Sam was, but he wasn't stupid, either. He was a Winchester plain and simple, _nothing_ was ever that damned easy - and being a Winchester he knew his troubles would be bigger than most. Before he knew what had pulled him out, he had been scared - and damn worried. There were quite a few creatures out there that would be unhappy that Dean Winchester had busted out of The Pit, and he held no illusions that quite a few would come gunning for his sweet ass and the sooner they could, they would.

Then there was the sticky problem of Castiel.

From everything the angel had said, he wasn't the only one out there - and he had a boss, same as most supernatural creatures. Why that boss had seen fit to pull Dean out, he had no idea, but he could bet that it wasn't good. When you spent your whole life as either a watchdog, bait, tool or a puppet - you got to read the signs pretty easily and he knew that he was in for no damned picnic. It felt too much like out of the frying pan and into another frying pan for his peace of mind, so he wanted insurance. Castiel scared him - the fact that Cas had a boss _terrified_ him - and he didn't want to be used only to be dumped right back where he started from.

Sooo...two problems that needed solving, hopefully both at the same time. He wanted to tell Sam his plans, tell him what he was looking for, but Sam had been so distant and dismissive, he wanted to wait until he actually had it in his hands before he said anything...if he ever did. Even when he was calling Joshua to ask for help, he had a feeling that Sam wouldn't appreciate his little solution to their demon/angel problem. Something deep inside had known something was wrong even then - and being halted or hindered just wasn't a risk he was willing to take.

Not that it was something he'd have to worry about, now.

He had sat there with the letter in his hands for a full fifteen minutes before he'd had the courage to open it, scared that it wouldn't work - scared that it would. But he finally took another slug of his whiskey and tore into the envelope, careful to not rip the paper that was inside. Besides the standard letter that went with (catching Dean up to what Joshua was doing, small chit-chat about hunts and wishes that Dean himself was doing okay) there was another small piece of paper with two sigils and a way to merge them, plus a ritual that had to be done to activate them. He also stated that the ritual could be done before Dean got inked, the combination of the blessed ink and his blood on his skin making it twice as strong - and permanent once the tat was completely healed.

Which meant it would work when it was done - but would work three _times_ as well once he'd had it on for a few weeks. Defacing it even then wouldn't stop the binding magick - something Dean was extra sure to stress that he needed, considering the work he used to do. It would be a pain to have to do the tattoo again and again - so something along the lines of the type of tattoo he and Sam had gotten done (with permanence placed within the spell-work) was just what he needed.

He had gotten the ingredients together that night and had done the spell, taking it to the tattoo shop the next morning and having both sigils inked exactly as he had shown them to the artist, one over the other, onto his chest. The artist hadn't blinked at the use of his own ink - or even the pattern he needed, just declaring it 'neat' and 'unique - just the way we like it' before promising to get it exact, as he was the best tattoo artist in the shop (and Dean was inclined to believe him from the work he had displayed on his section of the walls). He extracted a promise to never use the sign he was getting inked with on anyone else and refused to let the artist keep the paper for his records, or have a picture taken. The man had grumbled a bit, but was appeased with an extra hundred for a tip and Dean walked out (hurting a bit) sporting a fresh tat that kept him hidden from the eyes of demons and angels.

From what Joshua had written it acted as an all around shield - not only would he be hard to spot by either party (their eyes would just slide right over him) but hearing him or reading his thoughts would be damned near impossible, too. The only drawback would be if one of them got clever enough to look for where he _wasn't_ at - but the world was a pretty big haystack and he was just one piece of straw amongst millions. So until the day ever came about where angels or demons got wise to him all of a sudden, he had plenty of time to come up with a way to dodge Heaven and Hell altogether. It was cleaner and neater than hex bags (an idea he had thought up and then rejected almost immediately), required no dark magick and it was harder to lose a tat than a leather pouch tied around your neck.

All in all, given a few weeks, he'd be safe as houses - and in consequence, so would Sam. With Castiel and Bobby to watch his back and the bonus of having no big brother hanging around as a walking target for both sides, eventually the demons (and hopefully the angels) would lose interest, leaving Sam to do his job without fear of Heaven and Hell keeping a bead on him. Dean didn't mind the thought of demons and angels gunning for him now - he had insurance to back him up and a whole lot of miles he could cover in case they ever got wise to his play. So yeah, it hurt a bit (the next few hundred miles would be a real bitch-kitty) and he had no real way to tell if it was working (not that he cared to test it) but he figured he'd burn those bridges when he came to them. No use worrying over things that hadn't happened yet - and may never happen.

It was time to start over.

He dropped the empty Coke bottle in the recycle can beside the cola machine and ambled leisurely across the dusty street (which was quiet for midday - but that was smaller towns for ya') to the waiting machine that Birch had asked him to pick up, stopping for a moment to admire the sleek beauty of the classic vehicle, wondering how he had ever lucked into meeting Twig in the first place.

Maybe it was Fate. Maybe it _all_ was.

Maybe his calling Joshua, finding Birch on the road, Birch needing this gorgeous vehicle taken to the one place he'd never be found and giving him the courage (not just the means) to take the plunge and step away when he realized he could no longer hunt, no longer protect, no longer be the person he had always been raised to be - well...Fate was as good a way to explain it as any other way. Lord knows Winchester luck was usually _way_ worse than this - it was like he was being guided down a new path and the friend he had made along the way was his beacon.

It was all falling into place so neatly he had to stop and marvel about how easily it happened, even if it was the hardest thing he had ever had to do in two lifetimes.

He dug his cellphone out of his pocket, contemplating calling them both to tell him he was sorry, that he loved them, that they'd be okay now - but quashed the urge as soon as it rose, like he'd gotten used to doing the past few days. He wound up dropping the shiny new cell in the saddlebag beside his old wallet, thinking briefly that he would have to get rid of it, get rid of that last tie to Dean Winchester - but he shrugged that off too. Maybe one day soon, but not yet - he was still too new this life, maybe when he became more comfortable being Jon Samuel Smith, maybe then - but not yet.

He dropped one leg over the vintage 1963 Harley-Davidson Panhead, checking that the saddlebags were cinched tight and wincing when he fired her up as the motion pulled on his right pec, letting her warm up before turning her towards the Midwest and a new life as a civvie, everything inside telling him he had made the right choice even as the tat itched and burned - a reminder that sometimes what is gone may never completely _stay_ gone.

No matter how hard you wish for it.

 **~ * ~ * ~**

  
 _"You never finished that story," Sam said in his usual cryptic way, eyes bleeding tired pain and cold, as Dean got him settled on the bed, moving to check the wraps around his left leg._

"Yeah? What story? Lift your leg a bit - we need to keep it elevated. It may have only nicked you, but it did a damn good job of it - no infection so far though, so you might actually get away with a few days rest there, Samantha." Dean fussed, arranging pillows from his own bed to put under Sam's knee, hands quick, efficient and sure as they went about the automatic task of fixing his brother.

"The one," Sam said thickly, swallowing around the dryness in his throat as the painkillers kicked in. "The one about the dragon and the princess - the one you were telling after we did laps that time in Michigan...you know when I screwed up on that tracking thing that Dad was testing me on."

Dean paused for a moment, thinking back and smiled, shaking his head as he got Sam a bottle of water from the mini-fridge for his parched throat.

"Drink up, Sammy - need the liquids," he said softly, half chuckling at the memory. They had tromped through the undergrowth, racing each other and catcalling as they went, though Sam had pulled easily ahead, his legs already longer by that time. When he had asked for a story as a victory prize Dean had been surprised - it had been a long time since Sammy had wanted a story, so he made one upon the fly as they staggered back home again, the promise of water and ice cream calling them to go faster than Dean could tell the tale.

"Thought you had forgotten all about that," Dean said, tucking a blanket up around Sam's shoulders. "It was nice...to tell you a story again, I mean -"

"Tell me a story now - finish that one," Sam asked breathlessly, shifting to get more comfortable. "C'mon, please?"

"Sammy -"

"It's Sam _-"_

"That right there says you're too big for fairy-tales and whoopers...besides, I'm tired, man and we got a long drive tomorrow."

"Please, Dean? I'll even let you call me Sammy for a week -"

"Sam..."

"Please _?" He turned on the defenseless look he knew Dean could never resist and put it up full blast, not an ounce of shame in him. He was tired, he was hurt and he deserved a story for old time's sake, knowing that Dean's voice in storyteller mode would distract him from his bum leg and would get him to sleep with no nightmares to plague him._

"Ohh, alright," Dean sighed, smile showing that he was enjoying the idea as much as Sam while he settled himself in 'story' position, butt planted on the other side of Sam's bed, legs curled Indian-style as he leaned back against the headboard.

He started the tale about where he had left off (something that Sam always found amazing, even if slightly creepy) and before Sam knew it, the dragon was dead, the princess was saved, and the knight had gotten the girl (and the kingdom to boot).

"Thanks, Dean," he said sleepily when Dean had finished, leaning his head into his brother's side, neither noticing as Dean let his hand drift through Sam's hair, a petting gesture that had often soothed him when he was ill or had nightmares when he was small. "You...you always tell the best stories."

"Goodnight, Sammy," Dean replied, smiling gently as he tucked him in, even dropping a kiss in the tangle of hair on the top of his head. "Get some sleep, little bro'."

"I wish every tale had a happy ending like that," Sam murmured, already halfway to sleep as his brother had ordered.

"Me too," Dean whispered back, settling into his own bed. "Too few of them do."

"Will we _have a happy ending, Dean?" was the slurred question._

"I don't know Sam, I hope so," Dean replied in the dark, a distant chill washing over him as he thought about the many things that could go wrong, the thousands of things that had gone wrong before and led them straight to here. "But I also hope it will be a long time before we find out, dude."

His only answer was a soft snore from Sam's bed and he smiled again, pulling the blankets up to his chin as he burrowed into the lone pillow he had left.

"A really _long time."_

 **~ * ~ * ~**

  
 **That same day, in Sioux Falls, South Dakota...**

"I've called everywhere, Sam - if Dean made any contact with our friends, hell, with any _hunter_ \- they ain't tellin'. But the vibe I'm getting is that no one knows squat - though they are all keeping an eye out for him."

"Thanks, Bobby," Sam sighed, hunching back over the laptop. He was really grateful that Bobby hadn't told him to drop it, to leave Dean alone, to forget it and find something to do until he returned - especially after his brother's last volley over the phone before he had lost him again.

Anyone else would have told him to take that call for what it was and quit looking. Hell, anyone else would have drop-kicked Sam to the curb after the confession he had made to how he had been spending his time with a demon honing his super-powers...with blood no less. But not Bobby - nope. Seemed that the harder Sam pushed, the harder Bobby pushed back. They had gotten into a fight less than twelve hours before over the whole mess, which ended with Bobby bellowing about how he wasn't going to lose them both at once, he'd go to Hell his _ownself_ first - and had Sam picking up the phone and telling Ruby to go fuck herself.

Then again, Ruby had been scarce of late, anyway - seemed having a powerful angel that was inclined to drop in when you least expected it gave her the heebie-jeebies. It made Sam sad that he would have to stop using his new-found power (unless he found another way besides drinking demon blood - had no idea what had possessed him to do that in the first place, no pun intended), but he was with the two best people on the planet to help him through it - never-mind that one of those 'people' was an Angel of the Lord. If there was a way to utilize it without tainting his soul, he'd go back to exorcising demons that way, but until then, he'd have to use good old fashioned now-how, the knife (if he was left without a choice) and the new tricks Castiel had taught him.

And speaking of the angel, he had taken some getting used to over the last few days. He was reluctant to be around Sam at first, wary - but as the blood that Ruby gave him had run out of his system, Castiel was more inclined to hang around, intoning that he was there because of the charge laid upon him and no other reason. Though Bobby called bullshit on that.

"He likes us." The older hunter had shrugged. "He probably doesn't know why - hell, _I_ don't know why! But I'm kinda getting used to that winged asshole hanging around. He may not be Dean, but he's got power to back us up - and he don't hardly eat much either."

A pretty good joke since Castiel didn't eat anything at all...or sleep...or learn that you couldn't stand right on top of a person when you appear out of nowhere - though Sam got the raw end of that deal the last time the angel had snuck up on him. He made a mental note that hitting an angel wasn't good for your hand before spending the next two hours icing it, grumbling good-naturedly as Bobby laughed himself sick over it.

But while they all spent time getting used to each other, they also kept a lookout for Dean and where he may have disappeared to, Bobby's house being the safe haven for all three of them the last three days while they searched. Bobby's only insistence was that Sam rest now and again, and he felt guilty when he realized he had gotten more sleep the past few days than he had gotten the last few _months_ at least. But it was good - he felt better, more awake. And it left his head clear while he puzzled out Dean's possible actions, assisted by Bobby's insights and Castiel's ever-widening grid search for his brother.

He had that feeling though, that today was the make or break point. It was now or never - and while his gut usually didn't tell him squat like Dean's did for him, he had to do his damnedest to ignore the pit that had opened in it when he had woken up that morning. Something deep inside warned him that he might not get the best news ever - and he spent all morning buried in frantic research, while trying to prepare himself at the same time for failure. That was a hard teeter-totter to balance on, but he had managed so far, Bobby helping when he could and keeping him in an endless supply of coffee, some instinct telling the older man the same thing Sam's gut was telling him.

Bobby eventually plunked down in a chair beside him, all of his contacts exhausted and all of his locator spells failing him to see if he could help Sam in some way, _any_ way - because he'd go crazy doing nothing while he waited for answers.

"Whaddya got so far?" he asked, almost half afraid of the answer, but knowing that Sam talking it out might help, even if it was only just a little.

"So far - a whole lotta nothing on one end and way too much on the other," Sam replied - and damn he could do a good John imitation when he put his mind to it.

"How'd'ya mean, son - I don't follow."

"Well," Sam said, fingers still flying over the keys as he pulled up record after record to be scrutinized to death while he talked. "So far, his credit card trail ends where Castiel said he had last found him and all of his P.O. Boxes have been shut down from an unknown location, which means he probably used a payphone. Rare as they are, there are still quite a few of those scattered all over, but they usually aren't tracked which leads us to a dead end there. Also, his credit cards have been shut off, but only after large amounts of money were pulled - and since they've been shut down, the company is reluctant to tell me anything about where the money was pulled from for the next few days. Seems Dean claimed they were stolen right before he shut down the accounts, so that's also a bust. His cellphone went offline, account closed right about the same time that he shut down his mail-drops, but I can't find a record of him getting a new one. If he did, he went with a different company, different name and he either paid cash, or paid with a card that I don't know about. The only thing I had left to track him with was his Busty Asian Beauties subscription - and that lapsed while he...while he was gone - and he never reactivated it. Probably didn't think about it to be honest."

Sam stopped long enough to take a sip of coffee and squint at two open windows on the laptop before shutting them down and opening two new ones.

"All mail was sent Next Day Air to an undisclosed location - which means he sent it private mail - but I have a funny feeling that if I do track it, the drop that it went to will also be gone." He heaved a sigh and ran both hands through his hair, stopping to yank on a few strands before letting his arms collapse again, hands falling uselessly into his lap, shoulders rippling in a shrug. "Basically, if Castiel can't come up with his location, we're fucked. I got...I got nothin' over here."

"Dammit," Bobby breathed, face a mask of disappointment and hurt. "I'm sorry, Sam..."

"Me too, Uncle Bobby - guess all we can really do now is wait and you know -"

"- how much you hate waiting, believe me kiddo, I know," Bobby replied, trying for an encouraging smile. He heaved to his feet, getting ready to head to the kitchen to make more coffee while they waited for the angel to blip in god knows when, as Sam's soft voice stopped him in mid-stride.

"I'm sorry, Bobby - that he...that he didn't call you, give you a chance to say..." Sam shrugged again in a helpless gesture, looking half-sorry he had said anything, but knowing in that instinctive Sam way what Bobby was thinking - and what needed to be said about it. "If he'd've had a chance, you know how would have...I'm sorry, if I hadn't gotten so pissed at him, you might have gotten a chance to talk him home. You know he respects you, hell, we both love you though he'd never say it. I'm just sorry that I ruined that chance for you."

"Oh, Sam," Bobby sighed, looking old for the first time since Dean's death. He crossed back across the room and pulled Sam out of his chair and into a crushing hug, patting his back awkwardly as he pulled away.

"Think we both needed that," he half remarked to himself. "Sam - this was in no way your fault. Hell, Dean knows damn well how to push your buttons and if he couldn't get you one way, he'd've just tried for another, can't be helped, son. I wish I had gotten a chance to talk to him, too - tell him...well tell him a manner of things, but we won't ever know if my talking to him would have made things worse or better. Sometimes...sometimes things work out a certain way for a reason. I'm just glad to have you here, boy - I...I missed you, you know that? Now, how about some coffee before I start growin' girl parts, huh? Swear havin' you around! Soon I'll be throwing tea parties and shit like that."

Sam laughed at Bobby's gruff deflection, warmed by his words just because they came from Bobby, who wasn't known for being the best with them (kind of like his brother). He leaned back in his chair, half tempted to either close the laptop or get more eyestrain crammed in on it within the next few minutes, but let it lie, connection blinking merrily as he finished his coffee. He knew any further efforts would just be him chasing his tail until he was frustrated, so he was resolved to give himself a few minutes away from it - to clear his head if nothing else.

Of course, that would be the exact time Castiel decided to pop in, his features an odd mixture of thunderous, grim and bewildered.

"Castiel? Are you -" Sam started, ass halfway out of his chair before he could think on it.

"I can't find him," Castiel intoned, shifting his feet in - was that nervousness? Damn - if so that was very much on the not-good scale. Sam's gut rumbled a warning at him and he snapped his eyes to Bobby, who entered the room with a fresh coffee cup, eyes drawn immediately to the angel in their midst.

"What's goin' on?" Bobby asked, taking note of the paleness of Sam's face and the stoniness radiating from Castiel. "What happened?"

"I can't find him -"

"So? That's what we've all been busy working on -"

"No," the angel replied impatiently, almost panicked. "I mean I can't _find_ him - my...my Mark, my connection to it - it...it has been severed, I feel..."

" _Shit_ ," Bobby gritted, getting a chair and shoving it underneath Castiel as he collapsed towards the floor. "Well - _that's_ not good."

"I don't," Castiel gasped, sounding wounded. "This has never happened to me before, I feel... _lost_ \- like I've _lost_ something, I'm not used to..."

Bobby gripped his shoulder, glancing up into Sam's stricken face, half afraid to see defeat in his eyes, but surprised when all he saw was determination and a new fire flaring to life. He knelt down towards Castiel, putting one hand on the angel's other shoulder, willing him to draw strength from them both.

"I'm sorry, Cas," he began, stilling at the startled look on the angel's face before realizing he had slipped up. Before he could say anything, wonder crept into those blue eyes and a hesitant smile pulled at Castiel's lips, one hand coming up to pat at Sam's arm.

"He... _he_ called me that," Castiel explained. "I did not know what to make of it at the time, but...I like it."

"Okay," Sam grinned. "Cas it is, then... Are you - are you going to be okay?"

"Yes, Sam," Castiel replied, looking a little less grim and a little calmer. "It is just... _unsettling_ to me - it feels like what being cut off from my brothers and sisters would feel like - empty...a void where something _should_ be, but is not. I will...I will be fine - it will just take a while to get used to."

"Okay," Sam breathed. "Okay - I'm sorry that it has happened. I'm sorry that it hurts - but...do you know _why_ it would happen?"

Bobby glanced at Sam sharply, knowing where he was headed, even if he didn't know how they were going to get there.

"No," Castiel replied, sitting up straighter. "I have no idea why - or _how_ \- such a connection would be severed. This indicates strong magick indeed."

"D'ya think Dean -" Bobby started.

"I don't know," Sam mused, brow furrowed in concentration. "But this now makes it ten times harder to find him - and we were already batting zero before Cas showed up."

He noted how the angel smiled faintly at the nickname, even as he looked troubled.

"Wait - you are saying that you have been unsuccessful as well?"

"Yup," Bobby cut in, sighing as he moved to drag a chair over to sit down himself, Sam having already reclaimed the seat in front of the laptop. "We were waiting on you to come back and give us something to go on."

"I am...sorry," Castiel said, shoulder slumped, face downcast. "I should not have failed you."

"Hey, _hey_ ," Sam said, glancing at Bobby as he spoke. "Don't talk like that - it's no one's fault, okay? Just means, it will be...a little harder, that's all."

"Like a needle in a really, _really_ big stack of needles," Bobby commented dryly.

"Well, either way," Sam replied, lips twisting in a wry and determined grin, eyes shining with that peculiar light they got when he was challenged. "I know _I_ don't have anything pressing to do - how about you guys?"

At the head shakes from Bobby and Castiel both, he grinned, happy when they relaxed and smiled back in response. That was more like it.

"Well, seeing as how none of us have anything better to do - we got a houseful of books, a hunter that has been around the block, an ex-demon-blood junkie and an angel on our shoulders, to me that tells us one thing."

"And what may that be?"Castiel queried, looking at the two of them as they grinned back at him.

"That means," Bobby started, looking as determined as Sam. They were all in this together, all the way no matter what it took - there was no going back now. "It means, my angelic friend, that we got work to do..."

 **~ * ~ * ~**

  
 **Three Months Later (in a small town in Montana)...**

Jonathon Samuel Smith jumped gracefully out of the Ford F-150 Super Duty, dusting off his jeans as he made his way towards the door of Engelhart's Feed and Grain, stretching his sore back muscles as he walked, rubbing absently at one hip. Last night had been a doozy, no doubt.

He'd had to help Thomas with a mare while she was birthing, the foal having gotten caught halfway out putting both mama and baby in trouble. He'd had first watch when it started and had called his boss immediately, unsure of what to do, but willing to help if it was needed. Thomas had shown him the ropes and he'd helped deliver his first foal into the world, and he was proud that he had done so, though he had been scared the whole time.

"Always happens like that," Thomas had told him after it was over and they were watching mother and child sleep together, both exhausted from the fight. "You get so damned scared that you'll do something wrong, accidentally kill one or the other - if not _both_ \- but they'll die sure as hell if you don't help, so...you just roll up your sleeves and get to it."

"You still get scared?" Dean/Jon had asked, amazed.

"Hell _yeah_ , I do! Love these damned animals. I'd hate to think of hurting a one of them, much less having them die just 'cause I was trying to help."

"Have you?"

"Lost one? Not yet - not like _that_ anyway...and thanks to you, I've got another win to add to my tally," Thomas replied, grinning and clapping him on the shoulder. They both watched the newborn and mother half the night, awed and content until dawn broke over the horizon, when Thomas sent him hustling off to bed.

Then again, he had only gotten about two hours before he was up again, chores needing to be done - but he didn't regret that time spent one bit. It was worth shuffling through the day like a zombie - he got to help bring a new life into the world and the euphoria lasted most of the day, keeping him moving even when Thomas protested that he would give him the day off.

"Nahhh - I'd just get lazy then," he had replied, before offering to make his weekly run to the feed store over Thomas' protests. "Part of my routine, I'd be lost without it."

So here he was just like every Thursday, list in his pocket for what the ranch required, though by now, he really didn't need it (knowing everything they had to have by heart, maybe even better than Thomas did) but carrying it all the same. He had made one stop on his way to the store, requesting permission and getting an incredulous 'yes' from Thomas who said he could go ahead and take the rest of the damned day off from there if he'd like. But Jon just grinned back at him and said he'd be back before four, like always, read to help round up the horses to the barn.

He had stopped by his little house on the property and grabbed his old wallet, shoving it into his jean-jacket's inner pocket and he made his way back to the truck, feeling sad for a moment, but too happy to feel that way for long. He knew it was time. His old life (though it still haunted him and made him long for his family at night) was gone, it was as far in the past as it was ever going to be. It was time to let it go completely.

He made his purchases and helped Englehart Jr (Dallas - though he preferred just Englehart) lug everything out to the truck, chatting about the foal he had helped deliver the night before and the mare that was getting ready to foal next week. He got everything in the truck bed and slammed the tailgate shut, chatting for a few minutes longer before clapping Englehart on the back and wishing him a good day, loitering until the man went back inside the store.

Feeling guilty (and knowing perfectly well why, but choosing to ignore it anyway) he pulled the battered leather catch-all out of his inner pocket, reflecting that he'd carried this in his back pocket since the age of eleven, a hand-me-down from Dad (so Lord knows how old it really was) and it had sat innocuous and taken for granted, in his back pocket for many, many years getting steadily more and more worn as time rolled by, the insides as well as the outsides soft and thin from use.

He flipped it open and studied his driver's license (way out of date, but with his original name on it) - where it had sat in its place of honor since he had first gotten it, before years and law troubles had forced him to make his own, his original still sitting in that little clear slot (well, less clear now than it had been) declaring to all and sundry that Dean Winchester was able to drive a standard motorized vehicle. He had gotten the Impala (a gift from Dad though he still drove it for hunts now and again) the same day he had received his license and he had cherished both heart and soul. Beyond and behind the license, various cards from businesses and pieces of paper with phone numbers written in feminine hand were two photos, both creased and yellow from handling and time and he pulled them out to look at them, wishing that things were different, even if for a _moment_.

Wishing he could be Dean Winchester again.

He shrugged it off, sad smile pulling at one corner of his mouth as he tucked the photos back in behind his old driver's license, folding the wallet closed again and stopping to kiss one corner as he walked to the trashcan outside the store. He pondered pulling out the photos, already missing the sight of Mom and Dad and Baby Sammy, missing the photo of him and Sam waiting outside another anonymous school (Catcherville High) for Dad to pick them up, arms slung over each other's shoulders, sharing a private joke.The capture done by an enthusiastic newsletter photographer, who had been more than happy to give Dean a copy, as long as he agreed to take her to a movie that night. Of course, they had moved on that same day, so the movie never happened - but it would have been nice to take her.

He longed to open the wallet back up and snatch everything out before tossing it away.

Then he longed to keep the wallet itself, the worn brown leather almost a friend after all these years - he wanted to keep them _all_ though he knew he couldn't - though he knew he _shouldn't_.

With a sad twinge that started deep in his chest and spread like an ache all through his bones (making his small smile falter just a bit at the corners of his lips) he dropped the wallet at the top of the bin, pulling some papers over it to hide the brown leather from sight. It only took a minute, but it felt like a lifetime as he took several breaths, willing himself to walk away, to leave it behind. This was the last step, the last tie - and he had to let it go.

After what felt like an eternity, Jonathon Samuel Smith got back into his boss' truck and pulled away from the feed-store, leaving Dean Winchester and everything he once was sitting halfway down a wire trashcan, waiting for pick up the next day - his heart heavy but his mind at ease as he headed back to his new life, the future opening up even as the past closed behind him.

From the corner of Englehart's Feed and Grain, a shadow slipped towards the front of the store, eyes concentrated on the retreating tail-lights of the F-150 as they dwindled to pinpricks in the distance. One they were gone, a calloused hand, nails bitten to the quick, dipped into the waste bin, pulling out the last possession of one Dean Winchester, flipping it open to the once coveted driver's license inside before flipping it closed again.

A smile formed beneath the scraggly blonde hair and manic green eyes of the stranger, who stuck the wallet into his own back pocket as if it belonged there, melting back the way he had come, no one the wiser for him having been there at all. Over the upcoming months, he would get to know Dean Winchester as if the man was his brother - and what he did with that information, well...he'd see what he would see, wouldn't he?

The next year would be interesting... _very_ interesting indeed.  


  


  
**Finis ******  


**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This fic would not have been possible without the support of my wonderful husband and my awesome Friends (at work, at home and at LJ!) cheering me on - thanks guys, I can never show enough love! This fic was inspired by the awesome music/vids that have awed and moved me over the last few months - so big thanks to Loki, LSketch42, Kahesha, DragonFly and Thandie! This fiction would not have been possible (even with all the love and support) if not for my fantastic beta and friend Rinkle! Honey, I would have been lost in Nowhere without you! That's just facts *HUGS*. So any screw-ups you see are mine and mine alone. That being said, I hope you enjoy - and if you do, give a nod to all these wonderful people listed here. (Written for spn_j2_bigbang at Livejournal.)  
> Disclaimer: Not mine, nope! All the wishing and pleading with the PTB have not changed this. So please no sue - just having fun here!
> 
>  
> 
>  **For the Artwork and Soundtrack for this fiction, check out the[Perspectives Masterpost](http://a-phoenixdragon.livejournal.com/391439.html) at my LiveJournal. And thank you for reading!**


End file.
